


cool

by motherofrevels



Series: valentine Bambi eyes (negative) [5]
Category: Onward (2020)
Genre: Angst, Brother/Brother Incest, Father/Son Incest, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Incest, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23697391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherofrevels/pseuds/motherofrevels
Summary: In the fifteen years following the official reintroduction of magic, the world had changed dramatically. At the forefront of this movement, was a young man by the name of Iandore Lightfoot. But as the years passed, Iandore would come to find himself without a purpose.—Part 4/4 of the negative outcome timeline for 'valentine Bambi eyes'.
Relationships: Barley Lightfoot/Ian Lightfoot, Barley Lightfoot/Original Character(s), Ian Lightfoot/Original Character(s), Ian Lightfoot/Wilden Lightfoot
Series: valentine Bambi eyes (negative) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731595
Comments: 20
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This is a work of fiction containing explicit content involving two men; as well as graphic violence, drug usage, non-consensual sex and psychological abuse. If this bothers you, please feel free to check out some of the other amazing works of fiction by other, far more talented writers here on Archive of Our Own. Thank-you. <3

In the fifteen years following the official reintroduction of magic, the world had changed dramatically. Progressions made in the fields of science and technology since its inclusion were unprecedented. Renewable, truly sustainable energy sources had become the international standard, famine and poverty had been rooted out and painlessly eliminated; and the public relished in the birth of what was unarguably the single greatest information age their world had ever seen.

At the forefront of this movement, was a young man by the name of Iandore Lightfoot. 

A young man who was largely considered to be the standard to which any and all magical abilities were held. A young man whose legendary adventure had reinstated a worldwide belief in the boundless wonder of his Heart's Fire; and in that wonder, he invited countless others to partake.

The first ever Magus Academy was erected under his meticulous supervision, with the aid of a mysterious (though generous) sponsor. And within the marble walls of this prestigious establishment, the first wave of board certified magic-users would be born; pouring in from all corners of the globe as starry-eyed hopefuls, and leaving instilled with incalculable influences over time and creation.

And in the wake of the academy's prodigious success—coupled with the increased demand for public access to magic and its sweetest fruits—several more were opened around the globe; each carefully staffed with a rigorously groomed team of elite mages, who would be ranked as professors, instructors and cultivators. Many of these elite mages been trained by Iandore himself, each one a shining testament to his undeniable glory.

But as the years passed, with the tides of the world having been firmly shifted toward positive change, Iandore would come to find himself without a purpose. With he and his investor's chain of academies safely seared into the minds of the public as divine sanctuaries, there was little left to do except . . . _live_.

Really, _truly_ live.

The cripplingly shy, fragile realist, who'd once set off on a (now legendary) quest for love and closure those twenty bittersweet years ago, was now a man of thirty-six. 

And over the last decade, he'd toiled endlessly to ensure a positive imprint would be left upon the world he lived in. To take back control over his life. To escape addiction and heartbreak. And ultimately, to _heal_.

But not by choice.

Ian scarcely remembered fragments of what would be his final ride to the New Mushroomton ICU.

**• • •**

Sadalia Brushthorn had begun an unofficial search for Iandore, several days after he'd stopped responding to her text messages; fearing the worst had finally befallen him as she spent a night and a morning scouring all of his frequented hangouts. Eventually, her search would bring her to a dilapidated apartment building she knew to have been contracted by one of Ian's favorite dealers. 

Searching floor after floor, she eventually came to stand at the very top, which didn't immediately appear to be readied for residential use. However, after a cursory inspection, she found a short line of men to be standing around a particularly weathered door. They seemed nervous as she approached; hands in pockets as they shifted under her inquisitive glances.

"Good morning! I'm Sadalia Brushthorn, with _101 Action News_?" she beamed as she approached a disgruntled looking satyr closest to the door in question, pulling a tape recorder from her coat as she went. "Is anyone here willing to share their thoughts and opinions as a _resident_ of this building? We heard this area may be undergoing a gentrification period soon, and we wanted to get the scoop—"

" ** _Hey_** _!_ _Beat it_ , lady," the satyr snapped, teeth clenched as he attempted to puff up. "We ain't **got** no ' _generifictions_ ' here," he wheezed into a smirk, "Do this look like a _high class_ kinda joint to you?"

Sadie's expression was unreadable as she held the little recorder steady at her lips, "Would you like to voice a comment on the overall quality of the amenities currently offered to you, as a resident here? Or what kind of upgrades you'd like to see brought—"

" _Lady_ , you're out of your _fuckin' mind!_ " the little man hissed, hooves scraping the floor angrily as he raised a finger to jab it toward her. "The only ' _anemity_ ' we got goin' on up here, is a _fine piece of ass_ : For payin' customers _only_ ," he boasted, crossing his spindly arms. "And if ya don't cut the _shit_ , that pretty mouth o' yours is gonna turn up the _same way—_ "

A large, bulky cyclops exited the decaying door then; a familiar flash of periwinkle skin catching Sadalia's attention, that turn her blood into ice in her veins.

" **How much**?" she barked, expression steady as she calmly pulled her wallet from her wool coat, opening it up just enough to make a show of the bills lining it.

The little satyr scoffed, sidestepping to allow the cyclops his leave. " _Lady_ , I don't think you're gonna get much out of _that_ one. He ain't moved for _days_. We've been keepin' him all knocked up on the _good shit_. Good for _us_ , but maybe not for you—"

"You don't know what I like," Sadie smiled, flexing her brows as she broadened the mouth of her wallet. "Now, _how much?_ "

The satyr looked bewildered, eyes dropping to the hem of her pencil skirt in suspicion, only to return to her wallet a moment later. " _Fifty bucks_ ," he offered skeptically, hesitantly extending his hand as she stuffed a few bills into it and breezed passed him. 

The smell of sex and decay was heavy in the air as the headstrong elf entered the cramped, dingy apartment; the sight of her childhood friend haphazardly tossed onto a floored mattress forcing her to repress a gasp 

Every limb and every rib on Ian's body was visibly bruised. Various cuts and burn marks adorned his skin-and-bone frailty, and the crust of dried semen seemed to glaze them. The doe-like eyes she remembered glittering so beautifully under that milky starlight only a few summers ago, looked hollow and glassy. 

If his half-lidded eyes hadn't slowly blinked just then, she would have presumed him dead. Not a trace of motion was visible in his sunken chest and abdomen. His body had been carelessly arranged into such an unsightly position, she wasn't sure how many of his bones had been broken or dislocated. 

The three needles stuffed into one of his outstretched arms appeared to have been placed there as a kind of reserve; one of them still contained a chalky fluid, but the other two had been emptied into him.

At that moment, Sadalia couldn't have explained the emotion boiling in her chest if she'd had all the time in the world. She tried to steel her nerves, but her stomach clenched and reeled. What she felt, burned hotter and brighter than anger.

But she had work to do.

She took out her cellphone, finding Colt Bronco's name among her contacts and opened up a conversation with him. She made quick work of photographing the broken boy on the bed, and sending it to him; following it up with her GPS location, and a proper street name a moment later.

> _'located on sixth floor. room 608. there are several men outside room. possibly armed. please hurry.'_

She tucked her phone away, forcing herself to look back at her friend.

" _Hello_ , angel," she greeted calmly, the lump in her throat threatening to strangle her. "I'm so happy to _see_ you."

She smiled softly as the young mage's eyes found her own, but the look in them caused her eyes to well up. She balled her hands into fists, nails digging firmly into her palms as she attempted to fight back her emotions.

Never in her life, had she seen someone so completely and utterly broken.

The creature before her, was merely a shell. 

She wanted to believe that.

She wanted to believe, that Iandore Lightfoot was out there somewhere, warm and free in a world filled with all the love and laughter he'd always deserved; and that this broken little doll was merely the suffering he'd left behind.

That all of his heartbreak, and his rage, and his sorrows had been cast off here in this filthy little room, and that was all that laid before her.

If she _couldn't_ make herself believe that, then she would have stepped right back outside and murdered every single man who stood in the hallway. 

Or at least, she would die trying.

"You wanna go for a _ride_?" she forced herself to smile, but pain was thick in her voice as she knelt down to take a seat next to her bony friend. "We're gonna go for a ride, _real soon_ ," she promised, reaching out to smooth a few brittle locks of matted sapphire hair from Ian's face.

Sadie's welling eyes darted around then, searching for any of her broken friend's belongings, but found nothing. Not even a trace.

"Looks like we're going _shopping_ ," she attempted to chirp, forcing an excited smile as Ian's eyes opened up a little more. "As soon as you're all better," she continued, resting a hand on his sunken chest. "And you're _going_ to get better. I _promise_ ," she cooed, but she couldn't hold back her tears. 

"I know you're gonna _hate me_ , doll-face," she sobbed as quietly as she could manage, "but I can't let you do this anymore. _Okay?_ You and I had a _deal_ . . ." She shuddered then, lifting one Ian's cold hands into her own. "We can't let you back into heaven just yet," her voice was barely a whisper as she pressed his hand to her lips, next holding it against her cheek as she wept. " _I'm sorry_ , little love, but you have to stay _here_ with _us_. Just for a while longer."

The sound of a slight commotion outside lit the petal-shaped flourishes of Sadalia's ears, as she nimbly reached to pull a handgun from beneath the hem of her skirt, steadying its barrel at the door. 

A few more shuffles, and just as expected, the door burst forth to reveal the scrappy little satyr from earlier, brandishing a firearm of his own.

Sadalia didn't wait for an explanation; she fired once, then twice.

The little man fell to the floor in a heap as she stood, offering Ian one last caress as she went. 

The sounds outside grew a bit louder as yelling and scuffling ensued, and she steadied the barrel of her handgun on the open doorway as she clenched her teeth—

And she'd never been so relieved to see blue uniforms in her life. Two female officers burst into the room, each of them recognizing the other as they lowered their weapons. 

" _Oh, my god_ ," Officer Gore shivered, expression widening in disbelief, looking to Officer Specter for an answer.

Specter's eye narrowed at the sight as she leaned out of the room to call down the hallway. "Where are the _damned medics_? **Now**! _Right now!_ " she barked. "And keep Chief Bronco _out_ of here! **Period**! He's _not_ gonna wanna see this . . ."

**• • •**

The days following that ride to the ICU swam together; all harsh lights, shrill beeping, and IVs. 

And, of course, _Barley_.

Beautiful, bearded, _bespectacled_ Barley.

And the way his warm, calloused hands would cling to Iandore's, when he would sit next to him overnight.

The way his chapped, bearded kisses would graze his little brother's dewy forehead, sunken cheeks and bruised arms.

" _You can do this_ ," Ian would hear him say, voice cracking, "I _believe_ in you, baby brother . . . Remember that bridge? Remember how scared you were back then? Well, if I'd been granted the gift of magic, I'd be carrying you across that bottomless pit right now."

The sound of Barley trying to smile through his pain as he soothed Ian's motionless body, had been the first words his baby brother had heard him say in four years.

 _Four long years_ , of awful silence.

Four years spent watching from afar, as Barley achieved goal after goal; first his Bachelor's Degree, followed by his Ph.D; and now, he was beginning his foray into academia.

Watching from afar as he and his now-fiancee, Meadow, brought their first child into this world; a son they would name after Iandore and Barley's late father, Wilden.

 _Wilden Lightfoot, the Second_.

Barley secretly hoped that his son would grow to be the wizard that he, himself was never born to be, and that his father never had the _opportunity_ to be.

But if not, he knew that he would love him just the same.

Four years, missing every event in his mother, and now-stepfather's lives; the birthdays, the wedding, the anniversaries . . . 

Four years, of pushing away the people who loved him. Four years, of using everyone around him. Four years, of hoping that he would eventually push himself too far. 

Four years, of anxiously awaiting death; _daring_ it to take him, even.

But in those moments, where Barley's lips would roam the broken contours of his hands, arms and face; Iandore felt alive again.

And he let it free him.

Free him from the resentment, cruelty, hatred, and misery; all that he'd felt toward his elder brother over the passed nine years.

Free him from the fear of losing a man, who even now—after nine years of venom—would sit beside him, using his own form of magic to mend his fragile body.

Free him from the fear of loving the woman he'd once thought to be his replacement; but whom he _now_ knew to be his _successor_. She had never _replaced_ him. Barley was Ian's _brother_. They would _always_ have love between them. But his fiancee, Meadow, was to succeed Ian in areas of _romance_.

Barley and Iandore, were finally free to be _brothers_. 

Free to be _friends_ , without the complications of jealousy and insecurity clouding their views.

And Ian had spent the last nine years _running away_ from that love.

Running from the very love he'd craved.

Of course, the change would be painful, for a time.

He would miss their short-lived romance.

But upon thinking back, he realized that very little _romance_ ever existed between them. 

It was all _sex_. It was all _kink_. It was all about coping. It was all about jealousy.

It was all about their deceased father.

And for Barley's sake, he would learn to set aside these differences . . . 

But the road ahead would be difficult; as Laurel, Barley, and Sadalia would would unite against him, with his own best interests in their hearts.

**• • •**

Rehab, had been the place where dreams went to die. 

Iandore was convinced of this.

The withdrawals had been everything he'd been told they could be, and _more_. He looked more unhealthy _now_ , than he _ever_ had on the drugs.

But Barley would come to visit him twice weekly.

Alone.

He hadn't wanted little Wilden around Ian's current environment, even if he _was_ just an infant. And as desperate as Laurel had been to babysit, Barley wasn't yet certain if Iandore was strong enough to truly bond with Meadow.

 _Besides_ , even if it was a touch on the regressive side, Barley still loved the way his little brother felt in his arms. Loved the way he smelled; like a rose garden following a spring afternoon rain. Loved the way their bodies just seemed to fit together.

They didn't have to take it any further than to hold each other. 

No kissing, no groping; just holding.

That was the rule.

And they followed it. _Staunchly_.

So when they could be alone together like this, they could catch up, bond, and cuddle.

Sure, they might catch themselves becoming aroused; but they realized that they'd been conditioned by each other to do so.

And honestly, Iandore had bloomed into an absolutely breathtaking young man; with all the freckles, doe-eyes and bony hips of yesteryear, encased in a more proportionate frame.

Barley thought, that if he hadn't wasted so many years chasing his high, he could have easily been scouted for runway modeling; the slopes and planes of his youth taking on the angles of sacred geometry that age had graced him with.

So if Barley caught himself getting a little excited about the fact that he was holding one of Odin's most beautiful creatures in his arms for hours at a time, he wasn't going to put himself through the wringer.

But they had come to a mutual sense of respect and understanding in the importance of having boundaries for one another.

After about eight weeks, Iandore's recovery had been announced a success; but he'd been advised to extend his stay until he felt himself strong enough to resist any outside urges or influences. If he exited the rehabilitation center—only to immediately relapse—then all this had been for nothing. And so he, under the guidance of his family and remaining friends, had decided to extend for another four weeks.

However, there would come to be a bleak undercurrent in this extension.

One particularly rainy afternoon, Iandore had been visited by an emissary of a large-scale political and economic assembly, known only as _The Hierarchy_ , with an invitation to undergo a rigorous series of molecular genetic testings, and psychological evaluations, that would be administered by a third-party laboratory of their choosing.

A third-party laboratory, that would cover the cost of his time spent in recovery thus-far (and henceforth), as well as provide a handsome compensation for his cooperation.

The purpose of these testings and evaluations, would be in the spirit of furthering a definitive education and application in the area of magic, as there were currently no governing-bodies with any substantial (or factual) studies done on this subject thus-far.

And so, Iandore had agreed to consent to this advanced testing, at any point during the course of his rehabilitation. So long as it complied with the center's visiting hours, of course.

And yet, a second visit never came.

Until one day, around the end of the third week.

Barley had been cradling Ian in his arms—surrounding him in two unyielding pillars of strength—when they'd heard a knock at the door; three strangers entering.

Two women who appeared to be nurses entered first, expressions unreadable from behind the powder blue of their medical masks.

And next, a man who caused the Lightfoot brothers to jump into seated positions on Ian's twin-sized hospital bed.

At first glance, the man appeared to be their father in nearly every way; the differences between them not standing out until they'd taken the time to study him further.

Azure hair trickled into a nicely shaped beard that framed the stranger's sharp jaw; amber eyes gleaming with an unreadable emotion behind a pair of aviator-style eye glasses. The elf's nose was a bit more angled than their father's, but his voice was just as soft and full of wonder as he spoke.

"Now which one of you two fine young men would be . . . _Iandore Lightfoot_?" he inquired aloud, looking over the chart in his broad hands. The softness of his voice was accentuated by the chaste kiss of an accent that neither brother could quite place.

After catching the look of uncertainty in Ian's gaze, Barley's brows drew into a frown. " _Who's asking?_ " he challenged, an arm reaching to pull Ian's slighter form more securely against his own. "What's this about?"

With this, the stranger before them broke into a hearty laugh; a radiant smile that never once touched his eyes. It reminded Barley of the little fey wrapped in his embrace, and on instinct, he found himself holding him more tightly.

The two nurses standing behind him seemed to simply stare out into space, seemingly unphased by this show of eccentricity.

" _Ah_ , of course. _Code Pisces!_ I see it now," he chuckled, straightening himself out, " _Erm_ —Pardon me. Holden Hoarfrost. Psychiatrist **.** Pleased to make your acquaintance, young sirs."

Holden extended his pastel hand to Ian, chilly gaze firmly locked onto the young mage, not once bothering to acknowledge Barley's presence.

But it was Barley who'd responded to the extension; reaching passed his sibling to take the bearded stranger's hand within his own, squeezing it a touch too firmly as he shook it.

" _Code Pisces?_ " the elder Lightfoot quirked his brow, not releasing the cleanly pressed gentleman until he'd received his answer.

" _Precisely_! The code name given to you and your dear brother by The Hierarchy, after young Iandore's first public display of magical ability," the older man informed, pulling away successfully after a few tries.

"Why _Pisces_?" Ian finally spoke up, looking to the stranger for answers; but it was his elder brother who answered.

"Aphrodite and Eros," Barley grumbled behind him, "Two Olympian deities, who disguised themselves as fish—"

"The Goddess of Love and Beauty, and the God of Sexual Desire," Holden cut in, gaze still steadied on Iandor's rounded eyes. "And now that I have the two of you seated here before me, I can truly appreciate the inspiration."

Barley scoffed, eyes flickering to his baby brother, who looked lost somewhere between fear and confusion.

But the lab-coated gentleman pressed on, crouching low to present his hand to Ian more directly; the hem of his slacks hiking up ever-so-slightly to reveal neon yellow socks. "You must be our _Venus_ , young Iandore." He smiled then, expression softening and tone warm.

But his eyes . . . 

The youngest elf swallowed thickly, a memory returning that sent a shiver through his spine; _this was the Wilden Lightfoot, that he **deserved**._

And so it was.

The days that followed were filled with a strange unrest that weighed heavily on the Lightfoot siblings. Ian hadn't yet undergone any particularly rigorous testing. Thus far, at least.

Doctor Hoarfrost would arrange a meeting with him every afternoon, around two o'clock. His nurses would collect a single blood sample, and then leave the two of them to converse in privacy. Ian found the psychiatrist to be more than a _little_ eccentric. But he was always polite, and kept his conversation light.

But Barley wasn't convinced.

He found himself taking off from work earlier and earlier as the days passed, swinging by the rehabilitation center in an attempt to monitor the scope of these daily ' _theory sessions_ '. On many of those days, he would assist Iandore in explaining himself as the doctor all-but-interviewed him about the Heart's Fire.

No one they knew was more thoroughly educated in magic and its uses, than Barley Lightfoot. 

But, on one of these afternoon visitations, the scene that Barley walked in on would remain burned into his mind for years to come.

There, in the middle of the tiled floor, crouched his little brother.

Unfeeling eyes brimming with tears, arms tied off beyond his back with a yellow necktie, mouth stretched wide around invading fingers that pulled it from behind . . .

"Ah! Young _Eros_ ," Holden greeted. The good doctor was crouched behind Ian, expression unreadable as he slammed himself deep inside the svelte mage. " _Today's_ theory—is on _humility_ ," he informed between slams. " _Iandore_ tells me—that _you and he_ —have practiced this—lesson _before_?"

Barley's head was swimming; blood first running cold, then roaring to a boil—

" _No_ ," Ian managed, catching (and holding) his brother's Midas-gaze as he was roughly used. "I _need_ this," he mewled. 

The elder Lightfoot could feel his stomach twist, breath quickening as he found himself seeing red. 

All he could hear was the roar of white noise in his ears.

This monster, neatly dressed in his father's skin, was violating his baby brother. 

His baby brother, who had come to this place in search of healing, only to become engorged on yet another poison.

And Iandore, was asking him to let it happen.

The bigger elf bolted, leaving the door agape as he raced down the halls of the rehabilitation center, and out into the parking lot.

Tears stung his eyes as he fumbled with his van's keys, ripping open his door to close himself inside.

And there, he allowed his sorrow to take him. First in roars, and then in sobs.

But when his tears dried up, so would his visits to Iandore.

**• • •**

In the coming decade, the Lightfoot brothers would all but vanish from each other's lives.

However, they would hear about each other in the news.

Seemingly overnight, Iandore had become a celebrity. 

The tabloids would refer to him as the face of their world's next greatest change. And Barley knew, they were right.

But in the junior Lightfoot's countless televised interviews, it would be Doctor Hoarfrost—famed for unlocking the willowy mage's untapped potential—who would speak for him.

And the lifeless look in his little brother's golden-brown eyes, would break the historian's heart a little more each and every time he saw it.

Barley would come to open a highly successful museum for magical artifacts; the first of its kind in all the land. And because of it, New Mushroomton would reap the benefits of increased tourism, with people pouring in from every corner of the globe to learn about their still-uncertain history.

And time, as it does, slipped by.

Weddings were held: First, Barley and Meadow's, and sometime later, Iandore and Holden's.

Ian was the first to receive an invitation to his elder brother's wedding—Meadow had ensured this. It was a beautifully embossed, pearlescent flip-card, that smelled of firewood and vanilla. And had he any left; the scent had so perfectly captured the essence of his older brother and his soon-to-be-wife, it would have brought tears to his eyes.

Holden had forbidden him to attend, reasoning that, because he'd invested so heavily in Iandore's initial Magus Academy, they hadn't even a day to spare on the younger elf's continued training and conditioning.

But, Ian would receive (many, many) pictures from Laurel and Sadalia. And the emotion of seeing his brother in such pure bliss, would stir something within him that he could no longer place.

But, he knew that they were beautiful together, and that Barley was safe and cared for.

That was all he ever wanted.

Holden had proposed to Iandore at a dinner party celebrating the two-year anniversary of their academy's grand opening.

The young mage wasn't certain how he was to react, but he'd offered a kind smile, and accepted. 

After all, the good doctor had given him his life back; rebuilding him from the ground up as a hero of the people.

And an obedient toy.

Their ceremony was rushed; they would spend a few short hours in a private courthouse to achieve the documents necessary to claim a legal marriage. 

And not a single rose more.

There was _money_ to be made, after all.

Children were birthed: Two more bouncing baby boys.

First came Whimsy, two years before he and Meadow's wedding. And next came Willow, conceived on the night of their honeymoon.

Wilden and Whimsy were like neutron stars; bright and bold and brash. They had a deep-seated taste for loud music, and 'accidentally' destroying things . . . And they were the most fun Barley thought he would ever have for all the rest of his days, two sturdy little pillars of fire and brimstone.

Willow, on the other hand, would grow up to be delicate.

During his first few fragile years of life, he was hospitalized more frequently than he was healthy. Always a bit underweight, always a bit out of sorts.

But he was a survivor. 

He was soft. He hated loud noises. He hated clutter. He was rigid and regimented.

But he loved his father, and cherished their story time together. And the way his father's hands seemed to contain the entire world's supply of warmth and safety.

Barley's three boys were his pride and joy. He never realized how fulfilling fatherhood would be to him.

But in his heart of hearts, he wished he could have shared even a precious few of these dreaming days with his estranged brother. 

Wherever he might be. 

**• • •**

On an unremarkable afternoon in early spring, the Lightfoot residence was all aflutter.

Meadow had approached her husband with a (particularly beautiful) invitation, which had been personally delivered to her by a finely suited centaur claiming to be a representative of Magus Academy.

It was a parchment stained to match the rosy hue of the sunset where Barley had delivered his final good-byes to his father; and he knew it could only be from Iandore.

Surely enough, included in the invitation were five first-class tickets to the southern-most peninsula of Lillium; a Mediterranean nation on the other side of the globe, where Barley knew Ian and his eccentric husband to own several real estate properties.

But, why now?

Over the next several days, Barley would come to find that his mother and step-father had also received such an invitation (tickets enclosed), and it was shaping up to be quite the promising family vacation. 

The outbound dates were set for the upcoming summer, giving them plenty of time to make the arrangements necessary for a week of scheduled time off—their inbound flights marked for eight days after their arrival.

But no one had managed to successfully reach Iandore. 

It had become harder and harder to reach him at all, over the last several years. It was no longer as simple as placing a phone call, or sending a text message; as his rotating arsenal of secretaries seemed to keep a tight leash on his availability, chasing him to one meeting or another. He was always 'in a conference', always 'giving a demonstration', always 'attending an event'.

The elven family had done what they could to leave several messages, but received few in return. And from a third party, at that. The silence made them uneasy, but they had faith in Ian's ability to plan accordingly. He always was one for order and structure.

And when the golden kisses of summer's first days had finally arrived, the Lightfoot family found themselves at the New Mushroomton International Airport; the clutter and clamor of it all making for a stressful late night departure. However, once they were settled into their first class seats on what would be a rather lengthy series of overnight flights, they realized how excited they truly were.

For the first time in over a decade, they had been invited back into Iandore's life. And in a little over eight hours, they would be reunited with him; able to hold him in their arms, and tell him how much they loved him.

The idea of it all skewed Barley somewhere between excitement and tears. He wanted things to be _different_ this time. He wanted to make things _right_ between he and his baby brother. He would do whatever it took.

But most of all, he wanted to introduce Ian to the family he was so very proud of. His three sons had never once made the acquaintance of their estranged uncle. The only connections with him they'd ever formed, were established through photographs and television.

But by today's end, that would all change.

Time seemed to have rolled forward from night, into an unnaturally swift daylight as they progressed through their layovers; but the balmy air, warm breeze and bright afternoon sunlight that greeted them when they'd finally arrived in Lillium, was a true gift. 

Just as they had been informed by one of Ian's assistants a few days prior, a personal driver had been assigned to pick them up and deliver them to the Hoarfrost residence, located roughly a half hour away from the airport. Meadow, Laurel and Colt had been more than impressed by the glossy stretch limousine awaiting them beyond the terminal, and so had Barley's three boys. But the brash historian could only fidget in his seat, heaving a quivering sigh every few moments.

Meadow knew very well how nervous her husband was to reconnect with his younger brother. It was written all over his face and posture. There they all were, together on their grandest adventure yet, in one of the most breathtaking oceanside cities they'd ever had the pleasure of witnessing; yet Barley remained silent.

She never understood what kind of things must have had to transpire, to put two siblings at such terrible odds with one another. Though she'd only come into contact with her brother-in-law a handful of times over the years, he'd never seemed anything less than mild mannered and highly intelligent.

But Barley, she knew, held Iandore in the highest regard. 

Whenever she could coerce the man into telling her and their sons a tale or two about his younger sibling, it was framed with an immeasurable sense of pride and adoration. _Exaltation_ , even. And yet, the two rarely spoke.

As the years passed, a part of Meadow realized she could never truly compete with the love her husband had for his sibling. It may have been a different form of love, but she had no doubt that it was indeed stronger.

" _On Odin's beard_ ," Colt swore, eyes widening in wonder as they entered the mythril gates of his stepson's property. 

Hoarfrost Villa was a cliffside paradise to conquer all others; sculptures, fountains and grand gardens filled their view as they passed through the miles-long stretch of what could be considered Ian's driveway. 

The Villa itself looked as though it had been plucked directly from the pages of a fairytale; Laurel, Meadow, and Willow left gasping in wonder of its opaline pillars and crystalline steeps.

For a few moments, the Lightfoot family sat frozen in their seats, mouths ajar at the scenery beyond their tinted windows.

" _D-dad_ ," Willow started, Wilden and Whimsy beside him, "Y-you never _told_ us our uncle was a _prince_ . . ." And the limousine crackled with laughter, ice suddenly broken by the innocence of a child.

" _Oh, honey_ ," Laurel chuckled, raising a finger to wipe her eye, "Ian's not a _prince_. He's just . . . a remarkable person. You'll understand when you meet him."

No sooner than she'd finished her explanation, were the doors (and trunk) of the limousine opened up by a series of finely suited men, each sporting stark-white gloves. Meadow's mind recalled the uniform donned by the centaur who'd handed her Ian's invitation, and she couldn't help but hum at the connection.

" _Greetings_ , Lightfoot family, and welcome to Hoarfrost Villa," a sharply dressed cyclops bowed, extending a hand to help Laurel from her seat. "Its an honor to _finally_ make your acquaintance, madam. Your son is _truly_ a beacon of light to us all. Master Hoarfrost has been eagerly awaiting your arrival."

Laurel's eyes softened then, a smile tugging at her lips as she accepted the man's hand. It was still so strange, hearing strangers speak about her youngest son as if he were a divine being. It was a happening to which she hadn't yet grown accustomed. To her, he would always be her little boy; bright, timid and frail.

" ** _Can you believe this place?!_** " Whimsy exclaimed, barreling out of his seat and toward a large fountain, littered with petals and swans. " _ **Its freaking awesome!**_ "

Meadow's brows furrowed as she hissed after him. " _Whimsy_! Stop _shouting_ , please! And _get away_ from there! Those birds _can—_ _and will—_ fight you!"

Colt and Wilden chuckled then, watching her lilac complexion rouge over as she scurried to take his arm. 

Double doors opened up before them as they approached, revealing the truly shameless opulence of Iandore's cliffside home. And again, a shower a vocalized wonder lit his family's lips.

An ocean of glistening marble erupted into a towering double staircases, while a series of multi-tear chandeliers glistened pridefully in the afternoon light. Murals of ancient and mysterious gods had been hand-painted to fill every wall and ceiling of the grand foyer—

"Do my elven eyes _deceive_ me?!" came an excited squeak; Sadalia quickening her steps as she approached her best friend's family. "I can't _believe_ this! I'm _so happy_ to see you guys!" she exclaimed, offering hugs to Laurel and Colt, before moving on to Meadow and . . . 

Barley was out of sorts. He looked pale, a soft tremble in the fists clenched at his sides.

Sadie's face softened then, her hand patting the bulky man's shoulder, drawing his attention toward her at last.

" _Oh!_ " Barley yelped, a flush creeping across his bearded features as he realized he'd been lost in thought. " _Hey! Sadie!_ " he beamed, brow still beading with sweat as he pulled her into a long embrace. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

Sadalia pulled back then, scoffing as she slapped his chest playfully. " _Hello_ , I _work_ here! How do you _not know_ this? I thought you _'knew all there was to know'_ ," she teased, shaking her had before moving on to the three boys beside him. " _Oh my word_ ," she cooed, crouching slightly to meet their gazes; two hazel and one chocolate brown. "Look how _handsome_ you three are! You must get it from your _momma!_ "

Barley couldn't help but but snort, while Meadow burst with laughter—snapping herself upright as Barley shot her a teasing leer. "Oh, _thanks_ you two," he grouched, his nervous smile broadening.

" _Uh_ , so where exactly _is_ Ian, Sadie?" Colt cut in, narrowed eyes darting around as if he intended to catch his stepson skulking in a corner.

Sadalia gave each of the boys a pat on the head before standing into a stretch. "He should be down in a minute. He was on the phone with _his husband,_ " she pulled a face, "right before you guys showed up. They can't talk all day."

Colt and Meadow looked to each other wearing unreadable expressions, both catching the little grimace.

" _Oh_ ," Laurel started, hand half-raised, "Doctor Hoarfrost isn't in? We didn't know he wasn't at home . . ."

Barley bit back his urge to spit the word 'good', settling instead on relaxing his posture to offer a quiet 'phew'. But everyone caught it; both Meadow and Laurel slapping his arms to scold him.

" _Hey!_ I said nothing!" he exclaimed, voice bouncing along the foyer in a way that made each of them wince. " _Oh, shit,_ " he mumbled sheepishly. " _Sorry_. Its like a _cave_ in here."

"Only when you're an _ogre_ ," Sadalia smirked, tossing him a cheeky wink. 

And just as he was about to protest; a heavy sound echoed throughout the upstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps.

And there he was: Iandore Hoarfrost.

Barley's breath hitched at he sight of him.

His little brother. His light.

Poised at the top of the staircase with an unreadable expression, Ian came to offer a shy smile; quickly descending to practically throw himself into his mother's arms.

" _Hey, Momma_ ," Ian sighed into Laurel's soft hair, voice warm as she cradled him gently against her. "It's nice to see you."

"Oh, _my baby_ . . . Oh my god, _look_ at you," she cooed, tearful gaze causing her glasses to steam. "You look so _beautiful!_ Where did my awkward little boy go?!"

Ian's fawn-like eyes softened then, brows knit together as he shrugged. "I-I dunno. Guess I _grew up_ a little, huh? You look _good_ , Mom . . . _Hey_ Colt," he nodded in greeting, smile broadening as Colt stepped over to offer him a solid hug.

"How ya doin', sport?" Colt smiled, pressing a mustached kiss into the sapphire down of the mage's hair. "Workin' hard?—"

" _Hardly workin'_ ," Ian quipped with a grin. His stepfather's signature chuckle filled the room—only to be imitated by Wilden and Whimsy a moment later . . . And the slender elf balked, empty eyes widening in wonder as he took notice of the three boys at Meadow's side. 

" _Mrs. Lightfoot_ ," he greeted. His grin softened into a genuine smile as he released the stocky centaur to move in Meadow's direction, wrapping his arms around her a moment later.

" _Ian_ . . . Its so nice to _see you_ again," She relaxed into his embrace, bringing her dainty hands up to rub his back in a soothing motion, catching the scent of fresh-cut roses on his chest. "Thank-you _so much_ for the invitation. Your home is nothing short of amazing."

" _O-oh_ , _thanks_ ," he giggled, a slight flush wash against his cheeks. "You gotta have a place to live, _you know_? And who have we here?" he asked then, bending at the waist before the two boys tucked behind their mother. 

"Oh! Boys, this is your uncle Ian—"

" _I_ know who it is!" Wilden cut in excitedly, trotting forward to embrace the willowy mage—very nearly knocking him over in the process. "The name's _Wilden_. Good to meet ya, Uncle Ian!"

Whimsy followed, joining his elder brother in a dual embrace. "A-and _I'm Whimsy_! We've seen you on TV! You always look _so cool!_ " the younger of the two elves exclaimed.

Iandore was overwhelmed. He pulled back, studying their faces carefully. A dull warmth bubbled up within him then, that he found himself unable to process.

"You look _exactly_ like," at last, Ian's eyes met with Barley's; a dance of chocolate and gold.

" _Our dad,_ " they rang in unison, rolling their eyes as they were squeezed tightly.

Ian's arms slowly slipped from them.

It was as if time had slowed to a stop.

Barley Lightfoot: Famed Historian. Grand Adventurer. Quest Master.

But these were only titles. 

Titles that failed to express the full and true might of his brother's being—

A wild head of waves and curls caught Ian's attention then. A smaller, thinner child than the previous two stood at their father's side; wide-eyes glistening in awe as they stared back at him. Their chocolate eyes held each other for a few moments, before Ian held out his hand to beckon them.

"And who might _you_ be?" he smiled, observing the caution in the boy's approach.

"I-I'm _Willow_ , sir," the youngest brother stammered, lifting his spindly arms to accept an embrace. "M-my _dad_ says, I-I look just like _you_ . . ."

Ian noted the clean, floral scent the boy held; wondering if perhaps he would come to possess the same magical gifts.

" _Yeah?_ " Ian smiled, pulling back to study the fragile, freckled child in his arms with a tender expression. "I think I can _agree_ there," he decided, offering Willow one last embrace before standing. 

He looked to Barley with a soft smile, doll-like eyes unreadable. 

And for what seemed like an eternity, the Lightfoot brothers merely observed one another.

Barley's hair was cropped more neatly than Ian was accustomed to, appearing as though it had been freshly cut in preparation for his visit. His spectacles were missing entirely, and Iandore wondered if perhaps he'd been wearing contact lenses these days. What had become his trademark beard, was carefully tailored; strengthening the shape of his broad jaw considerably.

But all in all, he was still Barley. 

"Hello, Barley—!" 

Ian yelped as the sturdy elf rushed forward, scooping him up into a bear hug and spinning them both around for effect.

"S _ir Iandore of Hoarfrost!_ " Barley bellowed gallantly, his sunlit drama causing his three boys to giggle. "Allowest thy _lowly_ brother to _observe_ thee, my liege!"

Ian couldn't help but laugh—the tone of his laughter bringing a look of surprise to Sadalia's face in the distance—as he was spun, rocked and shaken.

"You may _observe_ , Sir Barley of Lightfoot," Ian joked, voice regal as he attempted to appear smug.

The elder of the two brothers arched back a bit, tears in his eyes as he observed the blushed blue rose and freckles of Ian's face. In nearly every way, he had remained untouched by time; not a wrinkle, not a flaw. 

The unruly curls of his youth had softened, having been grown and cropped into waves of stylized asymmetry. His features were more balanced; all traces of youthful awkwardness removed . . .

But he was undeniably Iandore.

Barley gave his baby brother one last squeeze—eliciting a strained yelp—before plopping him back onto the floor. Large hands lingered on the spell-caster's thin arms for a moment longer as he beamed down at him.

"It's _really good_ to see you, little bro," Barley smiled, successfully fighting back his tears (for the time being). "I've missed you _so freakin' much_ , Ian. And what even **is** your **life**?!" the historian bellowed, raising his arms in a flourish at the immensity of their surroundings; voice filling the room.

Ian bit back another laugh, brows knitted as he shrugged.

"W-well, I've made a _little money_ , I guess. A-and _Holden_ helps too," he offered; the soft hands resting on Barley's broad chest and firm gut fell to his sides quickly as he realized their audience.

" _Oh_. _Yeah_ ," Barley grumbled, rolling his eyes to Sadalia, who rolled her eyes back with a catty smirk. " _The good doctor_ . . ."

"Oh, _cut it out_ you two," Laurel scolded, shooting Sadalia and her eldest son a cheeky smirk of her own. "Doctor Hoarfrost has done _a lot_ for Ian. A-and _the world!_ He may be a little _strange_ , but he deserves our respect—"

"'Guy gives me the _creeps_ ," Barley grumbled, rolling his eyes back to Ian, who's empty gaze was untouched by the smile at his full lips. And within those hollow eyes, laid the true reason for the historian's distaste. "So, where is he?"

Ian's brows lowered into a playful frown as he punched his brother's bicep, then belly.

"Leave Holden _alone_. I already have to deal with _Sadie_. I-I don't need _two_ of you," Ian griped, crossing his arms and adjusting his posture in a show of disapproval. "He's . . . _busy_. He's not home all that much, these days. H-he's been appointed an ordained member of The Hierarchy . . . He'll be governing the Global Health division, now."

The air was thick with discomfort, no one quite sure how to respond.

"W-well, I think that's _great_ , honey! My little boy, _married_ to a _real life_ political figure!" Laurel tried, shooting Meadow and Colt a pleading glance. 

" _Right!_ That's wonderful news, Ian. I'm excited for him," Meadow wheezed, forcing herself to brighten up.

But Colt remained unswayed.

He wasn't certain he knew what manner of man Holden Hoarfrost truly was.

Or, if he was truly a man at all.

> After being honored with his position as Chief of the New Mushroomton Police Department well over a decade ago, his access to a breadth of previously classified personal files had been granted. And while Iandore was allegedly undergoing treatment for his addictions and mental health—under the care and guidance of a Doctor Holden Hoarfrost—Colt had been the first to notice what he believed to be traces of psychological conditioning and reprogramming.
> 
> In his line of work, he saw it more often than he would have preferred. Psychological reprogramming was particularly common in cults, but also had its fair share of fans in the world of organized crime. If you can break someone down to their basic needs and instincts, and then domesticate them again, you'll find they can become anyone and anything you need them to be. 
> 
> And within that process, code words—or even simply gestures—can be instilled in them to illicit a reaction. 
> 
> And the reaction you get, is up to you, as the reprogrammer.
> 
> Suspecting foul play when he'd noticed a seemingly permanent void in Ian's once expressive eyes, he began his search for more information on the good doctor . . . Only to find him to be free of any sensibly dated personal records, or viable documentation. 
> 
> According to every inspection source available to Colt, Holden Hoarfrost's documentation had been issued to him twenty years prior. His certificate of birth, social security number, driver's license, academic degrees, bank account, and several other documents were each registered and logged within a single day.
> 
> Within a single hour.
> 
> It was as if he'd been dragged into existence out of thin air.
> 
> As if by some form of magic—

" _Mom_ , I'm _starving_!" Whimsy whined, throwing his head back and shimmying his shoulders as if to display a sort of tantrum.

" _Me freakin' too_ , little man! _That's_ my boy," Barley beamed, extending a large fist to bump against his son's smaller one. "You guys got anyplace _good_ to eat around here? Is there a _Manticore's Tavern_ in Lillium?" he jested, a proud smirk lighting his face as his family groaned.

But Ian giggled.

"Sadalia knows all the _good spots_ . . . She's always taking me somewhere _new_ ," the svelte mage announced, smiling at her in a way that brought heat to her face and neck.

"U-uh, _yup!_ Th-there's a _pasta and salad_ joint that we really like," she mused, leveling herself out. "And its right next to this treatery—"

"The one with the double chocolate biscotti?" Ian tossed.

" _That's_ the one! They have this great view of the ocean, and on the weekends they have these really awesome Mandolin players . . ." she trailed off, smiling back at Ian as they both burst into a fit of giggles.

It was as though they were privy to some private little secret that only they shared.

" _Oh!_ Well, Willow _loves_ biscotti! Don't you, honey?" Meadow chimed in. She was always excited to find anything her youngest son was willing to eat, as he had always been a particularly finicky eater. "And I'd be willing to wager _authentic_ _Lillian_ _biscotti_ is a cut above the rest."

Willow smiled shyly, stepping a little closure to his father as he found everyone's eyes to be on him. " _S-sure_ . . ."

"Then it's settled," Laurel smiled, setting a fist into her open palm. "But . . . we get to take the _limo_ again, _right?_ " She asked sheepishly, and after a brief silence, the room twinkled with laughter once again.

The majority of their vacation would be spent in the afternoon sun; enjoying the sights, culture, shopping, and food. 

Lillium was everything Laurel and Colt had hoped it would be. They felt like they were sixteen again. And after the first three days of their visit, they had begun hailing a driver and taking off into the city on their own for a little romance. Their boys couldn't be happier to see them enjoying themselves so thoroughly. They couldn't remember the last time they'd seen Laurel really let go.

In the twinkling city below Iandore's clifftop escape, there seemed to be a little something for everyone: Arcades and toy stores, indoor sports and obstacle courses, shopping and spa treatments, music and dancing . . . All within ten short miles of the villa. And yet, Iandore would come to admit, he and Holden rarely ever indulged in the outside world.

The night following a particularly balmy afternoon, in which Sadalia had successfully coerced everyone into an excursion to the wealth of local shopping districts; the Lightfoot family was exhausted. Even the youngest of them whinged about their sore feet. And upon returning to the Hoarfrost Villa, they'd all eaten much more than their fill of the specialty dish—curated from stillbirth—that Iandore's in-house chef had waiting for them.

And so, the usual cheery clamor of hearty laughter and high spirits, had succumb to the velvety embrace of sleep. And at an unusually decent hour, no less.

All save for Barley, who's mind restlessly lingered on the rapid approach of their upcoming return trip.

The more he considered it, the more his heart ached.

He knew it wasn't possible in his family's current situation, but if he'd been afforded the opportunity, he would have packed them all up and moved them to straight to Lillium. 

When he left here, he'd be leaving his baby brother beneath the icy claw of a creature he suspected to be most fowl. And as an added offense, he could no longer partake in his guilty pleasure of waking up every morning to see Iandore—sharply dressed and entirely too precious—being scolded like a child by Sadalia. 

His favorite nag to date, had been the former-journalist animatedly going over the fact that Ian would add entirely too much sweetener to his (burned) morning coffee. The big finish had been the look on Sadie's face when the svelte mage had silently agreed, smiled, and chugged it all down anyway . . .

Barley's body quaked with stifled laughter as he lay awake, and he realized that the best he could probably do for himself, is take the air.

And so, as quietly as he was capable of going; the bearded man rolled out of bed, and left his sleeping sons and cherished wife to their dreams.

He realized, as he padded barefoot down the stately halls, that the Hoarfrost Villa was nearly made entirely of glass. Every room and hallway, was essentially a stage built to welcome in as much natural light as possible. 

Even now, as he approached the grand foyer from the home's left-most wing, he could easily view the lush introductory gardens in the distance, and the oversized fountain in the driveway.

Upon finally entering the opulent expanse of crystal and marble, golden-olive eyes found the radiant glow of double-moonlight to illuminate the entire space.

To find a deep shadow would have provided a true challenge.

However, the historian had already set his sights on the series of backyard cliffs overlooking the roar and roil of the oceans below; a place he knew his younger brother to frequent around dusk, when he was feeling especially wistful.

After the curtains closed on their first quest, Iandore had always associated sunsets with their late father. He knew there to be an even deeper meaning in them for the little mage. He simply hadn't been made privy to that meaning, as of yet.

The winds outside were calm; scarcely a breeze to stir the balmy night. The sounds of the waves seemed only a whisper of their usual might. 

And to Barley's surprise; Iandore sat alone amidst the moonlight—gaze fixed upon the ocean.

"Why, _Sir Iandore_ ," Barley called softly, hoping to announce his arrival without frightening his sibling. "In what distant waves might thy eyes see?"

The willowy man snapped to face him in an instant, seemingly shaken regardless of his efforts—the veil of horror in his gaze taking Barley by surprise.

" _B-barley . . . ?_ " he shivered, delicate hands drawn into trembling fists. 

Hazel eyes softened, full brows drawn in concern; " _Ian?_ Everything _okay_ , buddy?" 

Barley then crouched at Ian's side—the little mage reeling back at first—but whatever he feared seemed to melt away as soon as he held his brother's gaze.

And as if by magic, he relaxed into a smile. 

" _Barley_ . . . Wh-what are _you_ doing awake? Sadie's going to drag us all down to _the beach_ tomorrow, you know," he chuckled, as if nothing strange had ever occurred.

The brawny quest master was more than concerned, reaching out to set a large, warm hand across his sibling's slender shoulders. 

What had his brother's initial reaction been about?

Who else would he have been?

What did he see?

" _Y-yeah_ . . . Meadow _couldn't wait_ to tell me all about it," he chuckled, forcing himself to relax, taking a seated position. "The boys are excited! I bet the beaches here are epic."

For now, he would let it go.

" _Please,_ don't get another sunburn," Ian shot, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips. "You're _a whole child_ when you're burned."

" _Oho~_ A _child_ am I?" Barley balked, feigning insult before leaning in close. "I'm not the one who thinks _desert_ is a meal."

Ian's felt his pulse rush at his elder's closeness, and he couldn't help but shy away. "I-it's _filling_ , and it _tastes_ good," he defended, shrugging beneath the open blazer draped across his shoulders.

Barley's golden gaze followed that shrug, not having realized the exposed planes of his brother's torso until this moment. " _Oh, wow,_ " he breathed, eyes drinking in the collar and harness that gently dug into the mage's silky skin. "So _that's_ what's been hiding under there all this time."

He'd caught glimpses of what he presumed to be a series of his brother's favorite chokers, peeking out from beneath his shirts from time to time over the last few days, but thought little of it. Ian had grown into an unquestionably fashionable dresser, so nothing he'd seem him wear thus far caught him too off guard. 

But this was . . .

" _Sexy,_ " the elder Lightfoot grinned, wriggling his brows as Ian flung a slap against his shoulder. " _Hey!_ I _mean_ it! Old Man Hoarfrost really lucked out with you . . . Meadow only wears that kinda stuff for special occasions," he mused, taking in the sight of a flush radiating beneath his sibling's freckles.

Ian was silent then—finding himself tense at first—but relaxing after a few moments.

" _You_ really lucked out, with _Meadow_ ," he smiled, chocolate gaze finding his brother's again. "She's a sweet girl. Very smart. Very pretty. She's done a _great_ job with your boys . . . "

And as his frail sibling listed off his wife's virtues, Barley beamed with pride. "She _has_ , hasn't she?" he grinned, puffing his chest. "Well, _I'd_ like to think I _always_ make great choices. You know I like the smarties," he chuckled, elbowing Ian playfully. 

Childish, rounded eyes darted back to Barley's Midas-toned ones then. 

Ian was flustered.

" _Barley_ . . . Don't be crass," he smiled, watching as his brother's face softened.

"Who's being _crass?_ . . . _Hey_ , just because we couldn't make it work between us, doesn't mean you were a _bad choice_ . . ." the elder Lightfoot trailed, craning his neck to ensure Ian would hold his gaze. "You were my _first_ choice, Iandore. Always remember that. You were my _everything_ ," a large hand reached to cup a marquis-cut jaw. "You _still_ mean everything to me. That love is still _here_. It's just . . . _evolved_."

Glassy, unreadable eyes shone with the first flutter of life that Barley had seen in years—and then it was gone in an instant. 

But, it gave him hope.

"I _love you_ , Bar," came Ian's reply; warm, but poignant. "I'm so happy you came . . . I wasn't sure if you'd want to _see_ me, after . . ." The mage's deceptively youthful voice seemed to fade away then. 

And that was all the invitation Barley needed to pull his baby brother from his seat before him; plopping the smaller elf between his legs, Ian's back to his chest. As if here were mere luggage. 

Ian squeaked, obviously taken aback by being handled in such a way—which gave Barley the silent satisfaction of knowing that Holden couldn't so easily lift him.

"Who gave you _that_ idea? Huh?" Barley inquired, his arms enclosing the younger Lightfoot from behind. " _Listen_ to me, bro. I wanna see you _every day_. Every _single_ day. I wouldn't be here if I didn't wanna be around you, Ian." 

They always fit together so perfectly that it pained Barley; the soft floral scent of Ian's hair intoxicating him. 

"When we're together, everything just feels . . . _right_. I want you in my _children's_ lives. I want you in my _wife's_ , too. But . . ." a pause, he swallowed the pressure building in his throat, "I-I _need_ you in mine. I don't wanna _fight_ anymore. Not you, and not Holden. I can't go another year without seeing you. Hearing you. _Feeling_ you."

Ian's entire body was pinned between fire and ice; his empty heartbeat sent racing at his brother's lengthy confession.

"S-so if you're just gonna _disappear_ again as soon as I get on that plane, then I'm _not_ leaving."

The willowy mage held very still, as though any small movement may break Barley's spell; frail hands raising to rest atop solid forearms. He could feel the occasional kiss of tears trickle down his now-exposed back—his blazer having fallen off between them.

"I-I . . . _I won't_ disappear again, Bar. Y-you have my _word_." And at this, Ian felt his brother relax, but hold him a little more closely. "I _really do_ want us to be friends again," he trailed, wishing he could turn to embrace his elder in return.

" _G-good_ ," Barley sniffed behind him, an unseen grin spreading across his face as he shuddered. "B-because _I fuckin' love you_ , okay? You're _stuck_ with me. For _good_ ," he laughed, threatening to crush Ian in his arms. 

And Ian laughed in return, valentine Bambi eyes at last gleaming with a deeply buried light: The light of love.

So there they sat, legendary lovers at the edge of the world, until dawn's first kisses dressed the æther in triumphant gold.

And when they would come to divide in the days to come, they would keep their promises to reconnect.

From that moment forth, they were reunited as friends, and as brothers.

For the remainder of their lives.

Onward, into eternity.


	2. yellow (alternative ending)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative ending to 'cool', Part 4/4 of the "negative outcome" timeline for 'valentine Bambi eyes'.

The majority of their vacation would be spent in the afternoon sun; enjoying the sights, culture, shopping, and food. 

Lillium was everything Laurel and Colt had hoped it would be. They felt like they were sixteen again, and after the first three days of their visit, had begun hailing a driver and taking off into the city on their own for a little romance. Their boys couldn't be happier to see them enjoying themselves so thoroughly. They couldn't remember the last time they'd seen Laurel really let go.

In the twinkling city below Iandore's clifftop escape, there seemed to be a little something for everyone: Arcades and toy stores, indoor sports and obstacle courses, shopping and spa treatments, music and dancing . . . All within ten short miles of the villa. And yet, Iandore would come to admit, he and Holden rarely ever indulged in the outside world.

On one particularly balmy afternoon, Sadalia—after being turned down by both Ian and Barley—made the decision to scoop up Meadow and her sons for what was to be a day of sightseeing in accordance with the three boys' individual tastes. It would be a challenge, but she had never been one to turn one down.

And just like that, the Lightfoot brother's were alone. 

Iandore sat at the edge of his favorite backyard cliff, doe-eyes tracing patterns in the distant waves as his mind cycled back to his family.

He felt inexpressibly thankful for their re-connection.

They all had a choice. They could have just ignored his invitations. They didn't have to drop everything and travel halfway across the world to be with him for a week. He knew very well they had their own careers to attend to. Their own lives . . .

And besides, it had been twelve years—

" _Hey_ , baby bro," Barley called, announcing his arrival as he approached with two wine glasses and an unmarked bottle. "You actually _drink_ this shit?" he smirked, taking a seat next to Ian on the plush blanket laid out beneath him. "Where's the _whiskey_?!"

Ian shot him a pouty glance, "I'm a man of _refined_ taste."

And Barley chuckled, shit-eating grin stretched from ear to ear as he fumbled with the cork at the bottle's spout. " _Fuck . . ._ Your slaves didn't give me a corkscrew—"

"It's in the basket behind you," Ian countered, smiling gently as he watching an expression of wonder overtake his elder brother. Barley had completely missed the large basket placed at the corner of the outstretched blanket; it was a wonder he hadn't tipped it over on his way. "A-and they're not _slaves_. They're employed members of staff." 

And Barley scoffed. " _Slaves_ , _staff_ , what's the difference? _You_ make a mess, _they_ clean it up," the historian teased as he fumbled awkwardly between the basket and bottle until he'd secured his goal. " _Aha_! Got it!" he boasted, holding the corkscrew (skewering the offending cork) out to his younger brother, as though he were supposed to be impressed.

Ian's brows knit into a point as he observed it up close, unsure of how he was to react; but after Barley began to poke him with it playfully, he found himself giggling.

Barley was so strange. But he'd really missed him.

" _So_ ," the elder Lightfoot began, filling a glass and passing it to his junior. "Now that I've got you all to _myself_ . . ."

Ian's heart flipped at the implications, rounded-eyes snapping to Barley's in an instant.

" _Talk_ to me," Barley finished, attempting to re-cork the bottle and set it into the basket. "I haven't seen you in _twelve years_ , little bro. And I've heard more outta you about _Holden_ , than I have about _you_ , and what's been going on in _your life_ . . . Talk to me."

Ian ducked his head, humming thoughtfully. " _W-well_ . . . There's nothing much to _say_ —"

" _Bullshit_ , dude. You trained for _years_ with that guy, doing _Thor knows what_. And then you _married_ him. You didn't _tell anyone_ you were getting married. I had to hear about it on the _fucking_ _news_! You shut us _all_ out—!" Barley had snapped before he could catch himself, blood raised to a boil.

Iandore sat, blank eyes watching him with an unreadable expression, and brows furrowed with worry. He opened his mouth to speak . . . But couldn't find the words.

And Barley immediately felt remorse.

 _'God damn it, Barley,'_ he scolded himself, clenching this jaw.

" _Look_ . . . I'm _sorry_ ," he began, scooting closer to his fragile sibling. "I-I . . . I didn't _mean_ it like that. I just . . . No one else is _asking_ you anything _important_. They're just pretending like you didn't _disappear on us_. Its like no one cares . . . Its been _over a decade_ since I've seen you anywhere but in pictures or videos . . . A-and I don't know anything _about_ you anymore! Only what I _read_ . . . But I wanna hear that stuff from _you_."

Ian's eyes softened, seeming to consider something for a moment before raising his glass to his lips, downing its contents. "Sometimes, I'm not really sure _myself_ , Bar," he admitted, gaze wandering back to the waves. "I just know it _happened_."

Barley's Midas-gaze caught his sibling's, the distance and emptiness therein threatening to pull him under.

He couldn't help himself. _He hated it._

"I wish you could look at me . . . the way you _used_ to," he sighed, downing his own glass and fumbling for the bottle to refill it a moment later.

Ian's sunkissed cheeks rouged. 

He knew Barley hadn't meant it the way it had sounded. How he'd actually meant it, didn't hold the same happy implications. "W-What do you _mean_ —"

"You _know_ what I mean . . ." Barley countered, full brows pinched into a peak. "Ever since that first night . . . On the phone," he trailed; his gaze searched for Ian's, but found nothing. "You had this _look_ in your eyes. You were gone . . . And then in the hospital—But you would come _back_ sometimes! I would _see_ it! I would _see you_ in there, _you know_?!"

Ian hadn't turned to face him, and it was beginning to worry him.

"I-I had _faith_. I _knew_ you come come back. I've seen you do it _all_ , Ian. I _believed_ in you . . . B-but _now_ . . . Now you _never come back_ . . . You _sound_ like my brother. You _look_ like my brother. You _smell_ like my brother. You _feel_ like my brother . . . But he's not inside you," the historian's rant had come to an end, and the frail mage simply studied the horizon. 

Barley swallowed, downing his second glass. " _H-hey_ . . ." he called, cocking his head to the side. "Ian, _look at me_."

After a moment of silence, Ian did indeed look at him, but he wasn't sure what he'd expected to see. 

"I-I'm _sorry_ , Bar," the wiry mage offered, expression empty, save for an oddly placed smile. "I wish I could held you _understand_ . . . But if you _saw_ it . . ." he trailed off, a look of terror briefly flashing in his eyes as he looked away—a moment so brief that Barley wasn't certain he'd seen it. 

Why?

"Th-there's . . . nothing I can _do_ , to bring your brother back . . . _Not_ . . . Not the one you _want_ . . . Not the one you always picked up from school. O-Or the one who _cried_ with you in back of Guinevere. Or the one who faced the stone dragon, so that you could say goodbye to—" a freeze, a swallow, and clenched, trembling hands. 

What was it?

"B-but, _I'm_ here. And _I_ still love you, the same as I _always_ have," Ian offered, empty eyes trying in vain to flicker back to life as they returned to meet with Barley's.

And just like that, every emotion Barley had spent the passed several days bottling up, came pouring out. His arms enclosed around Iandore, holding the shadow of his baby brother as tightly as he could.

What the mage said had frightened him.

But, he was brave enough to say it. 

Sitting here, at the edge of the world, broken in a way that Barley knew he could never understand; confessing his love just the same.

Ian's frail hands lifted to his brother's dense back, tracing endless shapes, and soothing strokes as the man sobbed and quaked. "It'll be _alright_ , Barley. _I'm right here with you_ ," he cooed, trying his best to gently rock his elder's solid form. " _I've got you._ Everything's gonna be _okay_ —"

" ** _N-No it won't!_** " Barley barked, threatening to crush Ian in his arms. "I _left_ you with him! Th-that _thing!_ I-I _saw_ what he was _doing_ to you, a-and I ran! I-I—" 

The sorrow and the guilt was swallowing him up. 

" _P-please_ , Ian," he begged, another fit of sobs escaping him, " _P-Please, please, please_ come back with me. Y-You _and_ Sadie. You don't h-have to _stay_ with him anymore. You did what you n-needed to do. _Please come home_. I-I don't know what _I can do_ —But I'll try _anything_. I-I just want you to get _better_. I j-just want you _back . . ._ _It won't get better if we're not together."_

Iandore felt his heart sway. 

He desperately wished he could cry with his brother.

To offer him any additional comfort than to hold him and console him.

But things were _different_ now, and all he could do is wait.

And so, they waited together. 

Until the last prideful rays of the sunset he would always associate with their father, were swallowed up by the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ending terrified me, so I decided to scrap it in favor of something more bittersweet.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always striving to improve as a writer, so please feel free to leave constructive criticism or suggestions. I'm always excited to hear your thoughts and opinions, as well.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little series!


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